Solving a Riddle: A-Z
by pneuma.of.fresh.air
Summary: When Zia finds herself in 1927 London, England she soon realizes that it is no dream. After realizing that this London is the London of her favorite book series, Harry Potter, she embarks on a mission that not even Dumbledore could fully complete. The task: Solving a Riddle. The only question is...how? Rated T just in case. After all, this is Tom Riddle we're talking about.
1. Wake Up Call

Zia had gone to sleep with books in her bed before, somehow it never bothered her when they were under her pillow, or tucked down the sides of the bed by the wall. If they poked her during the night she never knew. Tonight her bed was strewn with all seven Harry Potter books, except the sixth, which was spread open, slightly over her face, but mostly over her neck. It was four in the morning. She was sound asleep. Dreams of horcruxes, of Tom Riddle's past, and the question of what Tom may have been like if his mother had been alive to raise him invaded her dreams, and when she woke up, it felt like she was still in the dream.

The air was thick with the sounds of old car horns, and as she opened her eyes she saw that she was surrounded by a crowd of people. Men in suits and what appeared to be newsboy hats, women in dresses with nylons, kitten heels, and light coats, all peered curiously down as she blinked up into the sunlight. It was a moment before she was sufficiently alert to hear what they were saying.

"She's okay!" "Must have just passed out." "How did she get here?" "Is she from the circus?" "Look at those clothes!" "And that hair…"

Zia sat up. "Where am I?" Some of the crowd laughed nervously, others walked away, seemingly satisfied that she was at least alive, if not completely present of mind. An older man walked up, holding out a hand to help her up. She took it.

"London," He said simply, pulling her to her feet.  
"London?" She looked around, now taking in the carefully combed and parted hair of the men, and the expertly coiffed women, the pearls and handbags. "What year exactly?" she questioned uneasily, looking beyond the crowd to the old fashioned cars and buses flooding the street beyond.

"1927!" the man replied with a chuckle. Zia blinked, her mind scanning through her knowledge of history.

"After World War…the Great War?"

"Yes," he said with a nod. She nearly sank back down to the ground, but instead looked around at the other women, although the crowd was rapidly dissipating, and studied their outfits and hair more thoroughly. Then she looked down at herself, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and an over sized t-shirt. She was sure she was dreaming, but decided to pinch herself anyways, surreptitiously squeezing a fold of skin on the back of her arm. It hurt. Impossible. The man looked down at her. He was also wearing a suit, but no cap, and he looked more like a kindly grandfather than anything else.

"Are you alright?" the old gentleman asked gently.

"I'm not…quite sure."

"Well, why don't I take you home to my wife? I'm sure she'll fix you up with a good meal. You don't look like you're from here. My name is Charlie Dawkins." The old man looked at her expectantly, apparently waiting for an acceptance of the invitation, his hand held out in a friendly manner.

"I'm Zia, nice to meet you Mr. Dawkins. I would love to meet your wife, thank you for the offer." She shook his hand. He nodded, and led her through the streets, him winding through the crowds and her following, making sure to avoid things on the ground with her bare feet. It must have been an odd sight, an old man being followed by a girl who looked so very bizarre, and she tried to ignore the stares from others passing by.

"I rather enjoy walking, although I do take the bus to get home. Home isn't too far, but it's far enough that walking that far wouldn't be advisable. Especially with your bare feet there," he explained, not looking back at her, intent on weaving his way through the crowds. She turned a little red, embarrassed, but unsure how she could have done anything differently decided that it was what it was and let it go. Mr. Dawkins didn't seem to mind, so neither would she. "And my wife's name is Mary; she will be so excited to have a young person in the house. Plus she loves an excuse to cook more food than we need." Zia nodded, although he probably couldn't see it, and continued to follow him. "She will fuss over you a lot I'm sure, so you'd best be prepared for that." They walked past an imposing building, and as she read the name on the plaque, she stopped dead in front of it. She knew what orphanage this was. This was the place where Tom Riddle had been born. Suddenly, she was seized by a sudden impulse and started for the gate. Mr. Dawkins looked at her.

"Where are you going, Zia?" he asked.

"There is a child here that I need to see," she replied. He looked at her in surprise.

"Yours?" he asked.

"Not mine, but I'm sure this is what she said. I'm sure this is the place." Mr. Dawkins, who appeared to be surprisingly flexible in his plans, as well as kindly, if the events of the past few minutes were any reflection of his character, followed her in. She moved to the front desk.

"Excuse me, but do you have a child here by the name of Tom Riddle?" she asked the woman at the front desk. As in the book description, the place was very clean, and the children she could see playing looked well fed and well taken care of, but the place was a little austere. The woman looked at her curiously.

"Yes, we have a child with just that name. Would you like to see him?" she asked.

"Please." The woman disappeared for a moment, then brought out an adorable, but somehow serious looking one year old.

"This is Tom." Zia gazed at the child, who just stared at her, unsmiling. And she knew.

"I would like to adopt him." Both the woman and Mr. Dawkins looked to her, faces clearly registering their shock, but Mr. Dawkins seemed more adept at dealing with unexpected situations, and quickly recovered. The woman looked at her.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty."

"Are you married?"

"I am not." The woman nodded as if this settled the matter.

"We do not adopt out children to women who are unmarried, much less a woman so young." The woman stared at her, apparently taking in her outfit for the first time, and Zia saw the resolve deepen in the lady's eyes. "The only exceptions would be for family." Zia looked evenly into the woman's eyes, and told the biggest lie she had ever spoken in her entire life.

"I am his aunt. My sister was his mother." The woman stared at her, dumbfounded. "My sister, Merope, mentioned the name of a street near here in her last letter to me, and that she was going to have a baby soon. Our father Marvolo is gone. This is my nephew." The woman blinked, apparently unable to counter this information. Zia was prepared with more information if the situation became difficult, but Mr. Dawkins stepped forward now, tears apparent in his eyes.

"Any fees that need to be paid, I will take care of," he said. Zia looked at him. "The reuniting of a family is worth any cost. My wife and I lost a son in the war. What we wouldn't have given to have him come home," he explained, his eyes still teary. Zia put her hand on his shoulder, patting it a little awkwardly.

"Mr. Dawkins, I can't let you do that," she said. "You don't even know me."

"You will let me do this, I want to. And call me Papa Charlie."


	2. A Receptionist

The next thing she knew the name "Zia Gaunt" was signed to official documents stating that she now had full custody of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom himself seemed somehow aware that something was taking place, but his one-year-old mind didn't seem to know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was a very quiet child, and as the matron handed him over to Zia, along with the few things that apparently belonged to him, his face remained perfectly expressionless. Mr. Dawkins, or Papa Charlie as he was now insisting she call him, helped her out with everything; he signed as a witness, and then paid any fees that came up.

"And you will still be coming home for dinner, right?" Papa Charlie asked, although it was more of a statement than a question. Zia nodded, and he again took the lead, although now he walked slower to compensate for the additional weight of Tom and the meager bag of belongings that the orphanage had handed to her, the former being carried by Zia and the latter being carried by a somehow more energetic Charlie Dawkins.

They continued on for a little while, finally coming up to bus stop. "I'll get your ticket, and we'll be off," Mr. Dawkins said. He talked to the driver then they both boarded, Zia's arms wrapped around her "nephew." She wasn't sure she trusted the safety of the old fashioned bus, but it was the only option, since newer buses hadn't been invented yet.

After about twenty minutes or so, the bus pulled to a stop, and Mr. Dawkins led her out and to a quaint little house with—she smiled at this—a picket fence and a little garden.

"Mary!" he called. "I brought you a surprise!" A plump old lady with a bun of gray streaked light brown hair came flying out of the house, saw Zia and little Tom, and immediately set her course for her new "surprise." The woman smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"And who might this young lady be?" she asked.

"I'm Zia Gaunt," Zia began, then had the air crushed out of her with a hug, although the woman was careful not to squish the one year old placidly staring at her.

"And who might this young fellow be?" She asked, easily observing that the one year old was a boy.

"This is Tom Riddle, my nephew." Zia explained. Somehow the lie came easily, even though she had never really lied before because it made her uncomfortable. She was calm and sure that this was what she wanted to do, even though she realized that she had taken an intensely difficult task upon herself. Or rather, two difficult tasks, because she considered raising a child and that child potentially being mass murderer Lord Voldemort two separate problems entirely. The closest thing she had ever come to raising a child was her job as a caregiver for autistic children and she wondered if that would be enough to go on. New parents were beginners too though, and she took comfort in the idea that many first born and only children turned out very well. Mary was attempting to get Tom to smile, and failing dismally in the attempt.

"Well dear, let's get you into the house. We still have some toys somewhere, maybe Tom would like to play with them," at this she turned to her husband and gave him a look that clearly expressed her desire for him to find the toys, then continued. "I'm sure I've got something you can wear, and then you can help me with dinner! I'm sure Charlie would love to keep an eye on Tom while we cook. Oh this is so exciting!" and with that, Mary Dawkins steered Zia into the house and quickly had her outfitted in a dress, nylons, shoes, and then put her to work chopping potatoes. Papa Charlie located the box of toys, and Tom proceeded to pick up each one and examine it with his chubby little fingers, as if trying to figure out which ones he approved of and which ones he deemed unworthy of play time. Charlie seemed to find this amusing rather than strange, which Zia was grateful for.

Soon the meal was finished and in the space of time that it took to prepare and cook the dinner, the Dawkins couple figured out that Zia was alone, had no family, and no job. Mary had heard about her husband's insistence that he be called Papa Charlie, and urged Zia to call her Nana Mary. Zia felt guilty for being such a surprise guest, not to mention that she had no idea of half the things going on in the world, but it was hard not to feel comfortable around Papa Charlie and Nana Mary.

"Zia," Mr. Dawkins began, having finished his portion of mashed carrots. "I'd like to offer you a job at my office. We're in desperate need of a hard-working receptionist, and you seem like a bright girl. You would be paid well, and we would help set you and Tom up in a nice apartment of your own. What do you think?" Zia wasn't sure what to say.

"Mr. Dawkins," she began ("Papa Charlie!") "that is extremely kind of you, but you've already done so much, and-"

"Oh nonsense! You accept his offer Zia!" Mary urged. Then she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "And besides, this way we will be able to visit your Tom! He is so sweet!" Zia looked over at Tom, who was sitting in a makeshift high chair at the table, staring at some mashed carrots that he seemed to consider a questionable source of nutrients. Sweet wouldn't have been exactly the word she would use for him, but maybe that was her knowledge of his very un-sweet potential future. Thinking of how unfair that judgment was to place on a one-year-old, she remembered what her mother had told her once. _Don't look at who someone is, but who they can be. If you treat them like they're already the person they could be, they're more likely to truly become that person._ She looked back at Tom.

"I will take the job. Thank you very much, Papa Charlie. And you, Nana Mary."


	3. First Word

Zia worked as a receptionist for several hours every day except Sunday for Papa Charlie, who turned out to be a doctor. Sometimes she left little Tom with Nana Mary, but usually he was allowed into the office with her. The nurses and other doctors had grown fond of him, because although he never smiled, he really was quite adorable. He would generally sit on the floor behind the desk on a quilted blanket, his little face focused intently on whatever toy he happened to pick for that day, as if he was trying to discover its secrets. He had also grown attached to a little stuffed snake that he carried with him to any new environment, which Zia thought was slightly ominous but also cute. He was always extremely quiet, never making noise unless he wanted something.

Today was one of the days when Tom was with Nana Mary. These days always put her on edge, because when Tom wasn't with her, she had no way of knowing what behaviors he was exhibiting, or whether he had started showing signs of his magical ancestry yet. She was interrupted by these thoughts from by the ring of the phone.

"May I speak to Zia please?" Nana Mary's voice came over the phone.

"Nana Mary? What's going on? Is Tom okay?" Zia felt panicked, not sure what to think at the unexpected phone call. She had never received a call from Nana Mary at the office before, usually she just received updates when she went to pick Tom up.

"Nothing is wrong, only a little strange dear. Tom just said his first words," Nana Mary explained. Zia felt her face crinkle in confusion.

"Words?" Nana Mary laughed.

"Yes, words. Tom asked me today where you were." Zia sat back in her chair, the phone cord uncurling slightly as she did so.

"What? What exactly did he say?"

"He said, and I quote, 'Where is Auntie.' A simple sentence. Seems like he was saving up all those sounds until the time when he would be able to communicate with them." Nana Mary explained. Zia sat there, silent for a moment.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him you were at the office with Papa Charlie. And guess what he said?" Zia nearly fell off of her chair.

"He replied?" she asked weakly, thinking that maybe this really was too much for her to handle.

"Oh yes. He told me, 'Take me there.' So if it's alright with you, I think I will bring him over."

"Yes, of-of course. If that's what he wants. Make sure you bring his blanket to sit on and his snake." Nana Mary chuckled.

"Tom is a clever boy."

"Yes, that he is," Zia replied.

"Well, we will be here as soon as we can, goodbye Zia!"

"Goodbye Nana Mary." Zia waited until she heard the click of the receiver on the other end of the line before hanging up the phone on her own end. She could feel herself shaking a little. Tom was already using sentences. He wasn't even eighteen months old yet. She sank back against the chair, rubbing her forehead. She knew from reading the books that Tom was exceptionally talented and clever when it came to magic, but she hadn't expected something like this. Going from complete silence to basic but structurally correct sentences…she was fairly sure that this wasn't normal behavior for a child. Then again, Tom wasn't a normal child. Maybe she should have expected it.

Several phone calls to schedule appointments, and patients for actual appointments later, the door opened and Nana Mary came in, holding Tom and carrying his travel bag over one shoulder. The boy's eyes scanned the room, silently taking in the other people seated around the waiting room, his arms wrapped around his stuffed snake. Then he turned towards Zia, his mouth puckering into a frown. She smiled tentatively.

"Tom?" she asked. The people in the waiting room were all busy either talking quietly to each other, or reading the newspapers and magazines provided, but Zia could tell that many of them were paying close attention to the newcomer; it was a normal human reaction.

"Auntie, why do you leave me?" Tom asked plainly. He tugged on Nana Mary's sleeve and pointed towards Zia. She could see heads actually turn in either her direction or his now, and she supposed that anybody would be interested in a child who could already form sentences like that. He tilted his head to the side, reading her face intently.

"Auntie has to work, honey." She replied. His frown deepened.

"You bring me sometimes," he countered. She bit her lip, not sure how to reply to that. Nana Mary looked torn between the urge to either laugh or cry, her face pinched into an expression somewhere in between.

"Well I thought that it might be nice for you to have more toys to play with, and Nana Mary can play with you at her house. When you're with me here I can't do that sweetheart," she tried to explain. "And Nana Mary can take you out with her so you can get some nice fresh air." Tom shook his head.

"No. I don't like when you aren't there." The waiting room guests had dropped their pretenses now, and the newspapers and magazines had slowly worked their ways down as people stopped paying attention to them.

"But don't you like being with Nana Mary?" he paused, clearly considering his answer.

"Yes. But I don't like when you aren't there." Zia thought for a moment.

"How about we have you spend time with Nana in the mornings on the days when you'd normally be there all day, then when you want to maybe she could bring you over here during the lunch break? Then you can have my full attention," she answered. He thought about this proposal, then nodded his agreement.

"Acceptable." Tom answered, with an air of finality. She smiled, and he tugged on Nana Mary's sleeve, pointing at Zia. Obviously picking up the hint, Nana Mary took him over to his aunt, at which time he reached his chubby fingers out for her. She took him from Mary and sat him on her lap. She had almost forgotten just how small he was, how young he was, because of the conversation they had just had.

The waiting room's occupants seemed to collectively sigh, and turn back to their reading, and Nana Mary took a seat in a chair close to the front desk, pulling out some knitting. Zia returned to her work, somehow feeling relieved. Perhaps this outward sign of attachment meant that he really was able to form a bond with people. She glanced down at him, and smiled as she recognized the familiar green of his stuffed snake held tightly to his chest.

She wondered if he had named it.


	4. Smiles, Steps, and Special Skills

Zia was worried about Tom. Despite his apparent attachment to her, he was still as serious as before. People would come into the office, and if Tom was sitting on her lap, they would lean down and try to coax a smile out, but he would simply stare at them. He had been offered candy, and simply looked down on it with disdain. If he was praised he would blink slowly, as if assessing the validity of the praise based on the one giving it, but nothing seemed to affect him. She didn't know what to do.

She laid in bed, staring at the patterns in the apartment ceiling, trying to figure out how to crack the boy's stoic attitude. She wondered when he may have first smiled in the book, but since that information wasn't provided, it was mostly guesswork. She knew he had smiled; Harry described the wild happiness that seemed to distort the young Voldemort's features when he was particularly satisfied with something. Or the cruel smile he took when hurting someone, things that she didn't want to picture the little boy sleeping in the other room doing. Yet it was evidence that he had to have smiled at some point. She fell asleep trying to connect dots that weren't provided.

Zia was conscious. Her eyes were still closed, but her body was on high alert, muscles tensed, it was clear that the room was still dark, and there was movement on her bed. Cracking open one eye and turning her head as little as possible, she saw a pair of dark eyes staring at her.

She couldn't remember how she got off the bed, but the next second the light was on, and she saw that the eyes belonged to Tom, who had somehow gotten onto her bed. She had no idea how that was possible, there was no way he could reach high enough to climb, and he had never walked or gotten out of his crib before. Hand over her racing heart, she looked at him sternly.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, what are you doing on my bed at—what time is it?" She checked the clock on the opposite wall. "At 3:30 in the morning?"

"I don't like being by myself in the dark," he said, looking up at her.

"You don't like…?" She cut herself off. "Young man, I thought I was sharing my bed with a rat."

"But I don't have whiskers or fur or a tail auntie," he explained, pointing out the obvious. He said this with such a matter of fact tone, and such a serious face, that she couldn't help it. She started to laugh. It was just too strange of a situation to handle in any other way. He stared at her blankly as she descended into a fit of hearty chortles. Then slowly, miraculously, the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Auntie?" he asked. Those corners were twitching now, as if trying to fight off something foreign and unwanted. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you are just so straightforward!" she said. He let out a sound that sounded like a tiny hiccough, and she realized that it the start of a giggle. Zia walked over and sat down on the bed. Tom looked up, a pleased little smile showing his baby teeth to her, and made a couple more of the tiny hiccoughing noises. After a few minutes, she had calmed down sufficiently to be able to talk seriously again.

"Tom, how did you get in here? And up onto my bed?" She eyed him suspiciously. He looked down a little, the smile gone.

"I climbed out of my crib, then I walked here." She raised an eyebrow.

"And onto my bed?" she prompted.

"I don't know. I wanted to be there, and then I was." Zia took a deep breath. She had known this would come eventually, little Tom was after all a descendant of a witch, and obviously would grow up to be an extremely powerful wizard. "Am I bad?" Zia shook her head.

"No Tom, you aren't bad. If you came in here because you were scared, I'm okay with that. And I'm not upset that you can't explain how you got up there. You just have some skills that a lot of people don't have. Most children don't learn as quickly as you do, did you know that?" she asked him. He shook his head.

"Is that why people stare at me sometimes?" he looked up at her curiously. Zia's lips quirked into a little smile.

"No, they stare because you're cute!" she said tickling him a little. He emitted his little laughing sounds as she did so, and she had to admit that even though it was quiet and restrained, hearing his laugh was worth the scare from earlier. Then she sat him down across from her.

"So you walked in here?" she asked.

"Yes." Zia feigned hurt, placing her hands over her heart.

"Your first steps and I wasn't there to see them?"

"I can do it again if you want," he offered. She pretended to think about this for a moment, looking at him as if trying to decide if she was too hurt to let him redeem himself.

"Okay then. I guess I will have to live with that." She told him, and placed him on the floor on his feet. He teetered for a fraction of a second, then did a proud little walk around the room. Zia applauded his efforts and he treated her to a half smile, then he popped back on the bed next to her, skipping the whole climbing business that would normally be necessary. She looked at him. "Tom, I don't mind if you use your special skills here with me, but you shouldn't use them when other people can see. Like I said, most people can't do those things, and some people aren't very accepting of people who can. Only me, okay?"

"Not even Nana Mary and Papa Charlie?"

"Not even Nana Mary and Papa Charlie." She confirmed. "Now, if I put you back in your crib will you stay there, or will you come back in and give me a rat scare again?" He looked up at her seriously.

"I told you, I don't have whiskers or fur or a tail, so it wouldn't be a rat scare. It would be a _Tom_ scare." She fought back the urge to laugh again, and patted the side of the bed that she didn't use.

"Okay, well, if I'm going to avoid another Tom Scare tonight, you'd better stay. But I don't want you sleeping here every night okay?"

"Okay auntie," he agreed, and settled himself comfortably on the bed, his chubby little arms sticking out of the top of the blanket. Zia stood up and turned off the light, then went back to bed herself.

In the morning, she noticed that his stuffed snake had joined them on the bed.


	5. The Park

It was a Sunday and since Zia had the day off of work, she had decided to take Tom to the park. It was cold and the park was covered in a thick blanket of snow, but he didn't seem to mind as long as he was fully covered in his thick snow coat and pants, wearing the green scarf Nana Mary had knitted for him, and had his fuzzy earmuffs on. She herself was sitting on a bench bundled up in a similar outfit, right down to the nearly matching green scarf that Nana Mary had created at Tom's request. Tom had insisted upon everyone wearing specifically a green scarf, although he didn't want them all to have the same shade of green as him. He was merrily crunching through some especially deep snowdrifts when she heard a "thwack" and saw a snowball break on his back. Zia stood up, worried, as she watched him pause, then slowly straighten, drawing himself up to his full (although still very small) height.

There was laughter as a group of older children came into view, none of them noticing the furious frowning face of their target as they pelted him with more snowballs. Tom, who was only a couple weeks away from turning two, was obviously not amused. Zia took an uncertain step forward, but Tom turned towards her, still moving slowly, as if trying very hard to stay calm. This kind of thing had never happened to him before.

"Auntie, I'm sorry." He said simply. Then he turned to face the other children. Zia watched, half mesmerized and half horrified, as the snowballs that were en route to his little body seemed to slow, pause, and then pelt back towards their originators. It took a bit for his attackers to realize that every snowball they threw somehow neglected to hit its intended target and instead boomeranged back to hit them. Zia could not help but be impressed, Tom's aim was impeccable. Many of the snowballs had chunked into ice and thudded one after another in the exact same place as the ones before. The older kids finally seemed to figure out the general idea of what was going on, and ceased fire. Then they all turned to run away from the small child who was putting up a much better fight than they could have expected.

One of them looked back at Tom, yelling, "I'm going to tell my mum about you, you little freak! You'll be sorry!" This was the breaking point. As Zia was running forward, Tom was suddenly no longer in the direction of where she was running but standing directly in front of the other boy, looking coldly up at him.

"And what would your mother think if I told her you attacked a little child like me?" he said menacingly. "Do you think she would even believe you in the first place?" The other boy, who had skidded to a stop to avoid hitting Tom, opened and closed his mouth silently, then shook his head. Tom looked straight into the boy's eyes. "Go," he commanded, and the boy took off after the others. It was then that Zia reached him, and he looked up at her, traces of the anger still on his face.

"Tom, come sit with me," she said quietly, holding out her hand. He took it, hanging his head, obviously aware that she was not pleased. She led him over to the park bench and sat him down to face her. He kept his head down. "What are you feeling right now?" she asked him. He seemed surprised at this question and looked up at her. "Well…?" she prompted.

"I am feeling sad because you are sad," he answered. She nodded slowly.

"And what were you feeling when those boys were throwing snowballs at you?"

"I don't know," he said. She considered this for a moment.

"Let's try to find some good words to describe it. Did you your muscles feel tight, like they were a rubber band when you pull it?" He nodded. "Did you feel more warm than normal?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt when the snowball hit you?"

"Yes."

"Did you feel like it wasn't fair that so many of them were hitting you with snowballs and they were bigger than you?"

"Yes."

"Did you want them to hurt too?" A pause, as if he didn't want to say it because he was afraid of what she would think.

"Yes." She patted him on the back.

"Tom, that is normal. Most people feel that way when things happen to them that aren't fair and that they don't like," she explained. He looked curious.

"They do?"

"Yes, they do." He looked relieved. "However, just because somebody does something to you doesn't mean that you should do something back. Do you know how to tell if a decision is a good one or a bad one?"

"If it follows the rules? Like when you say it is bed time?" She shook her head.

"No. Here's the secret." He leaned forward, so she could whisper it into his ear. Tom liked secrets; he was always eager to learn new ones. "If it is going to hurt someone, it is a bad decision. If it is going to help someone, it is a good decision."

"That makes sense. But what if somebody makes a bad decision to hurt me?" he asked.

"Then you need to choose whether you are going to make a bad decision, or a good one. Your decision has nothing to do with theirs; your decision has to do with you. Will you try to make good decisions?" she asked him.

"I will try," he responded, his little face becoming determined.

"One more thing," she began. "You did something else that wasn't good. Remember when you promised you wouldn't use your special skills in front of other people?"

"I said sorry for that!" he exclaimed. "I said sorry before I did it! In advance!"

"Yes, you did. But that doesn't make it better." He hung his head again.

"I won't do it again," he whispered. She considered him for a moment.

"Do you want to know when it would be okay with me if you did? Because there are some times." He scooted forward, eyes excited.

"Yes!" he exclaimed

"When it would be a good choice."

"You mean when it would help someone?"

"Yes. I would still want you to be careful, and try not to let other people see it though, okay?"

"Okay."

"Can I have a hug?" she asked him. He was thoughtful, then he consented and gave her a hug. "Let's go home and get some hot chocolate." They both stood up, and he put his mitten-encased hand in hers and they left.

As she watched him sipping his "hot" chocolate out of a small mug she had found for him (his hot chocolate was actually cooler than hers to avoid burning his mouth) she thought about the events of the day. She felt like she had gotten a glimpse at the park of the Tom Riddle that had become Lord Voldemort, and she didn't like it. What had scared her most was not the part where he had used his magic to redirect all the snowballs. It was when he was threatening the other boy, and the look on his face as he had done so. To her, it had seemed out of character. The Tom she knew wasn't the kind of child who would grow up to be a sadistic mass murderer, and she wanted to keep it that way.

He looked up at her, a little chocolate mustache on his upper lip.

"I know it was a bad decision, but wasn't it funny when they were getting hit with their own snowballs?" he asked hesitantly. She laughed.

"Yes, it was." He smiled, and returned to drinking his hot cocoa. She sighed, wondering how many days would be like this, and if she would ever stop worrying about him. Probably not.


	6. Holidays

This is a quick author's note! Thank you to everyone who has read my story so far, I am really excited to read all the comments and would like you to know that I do read them! It's very encouraging to get such positive feedback. Thank you also to those who have favorited and liked it! I wanted to try something new with the story of Tom and Zia, and I'm glad it's being received so well. I'm enjoying writing this, and I hope it's as enjoyable to read. Thank you and on to the chapter!

-Pneuma

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The fire snapped cheerfully in the hearth, warming up the sitting room in Nana Mary and Papa Charlie's little home. Tom and Papa Charlie were both on the ground, meticulously (as meticulously as an almost-two-year-old can get) constructing a model train set to go around the base of the Christmas tree that filled one corner of the room. Nana Mary and Zia were discussing Christmas Day menu plans, debating over whether they wanted breakfast on to include sausage or bacon, of which they had both. The rest of the menu had been complete and the refrigerator was well stocked for the next day. Dinner tonight had been delicious, but they had made sure to keep it simple in preparation for all the food tomorrow. Zia was keeping an eye on the two excited boys as the train set gradually made its way around the tree, Tom's little face intent on laying track in just the right way.

Tom seemed excited for the holidays, and she hoped that he wouldn't be disappointed at the small gifts she got for him. Although they lived comfortably enough, there still wasn't a lot of money. She knew that Mary and Charlie got him some nice things, but she just couldn't afford anything fancy, especially with his birthday coming up so soon after. She had spent a lot of time arranging everything for his birthday present, and she knew that he would like it, but the Christmas presents she had been able to afford weren't as exciting. Several gifts were already under the tree, but the rest would go under after Tom was in bed. Glancing over at the clock, then over at the now completed train, she stood up. Nana Mary, also noticing the time, stood with her.

"Tom, it's time for bed," she called. He pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to her, in his little striped flannel pajamas.

"Now?" he asked. Papa Charlie got up now too, and ruffled Tom's hair.

"You've got to go to bed now so Santa Claus can come," he remarked. Tom looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Are you sure he will know we are here and not back at our apartment?" he questioned, worried. Papa Charlie smiled down at him.

"Of course! Santa has been doing this for a long time, he has a very good system," he told the anxious child. Tom nodded and Zia reached down and picked him up, carrying him into the spare bedroom. Nana Mary had outfitted the room with a small bed next to the large one, complete with a little green bedspread, since it was Tom's favorite color. It was pointless to put him in a crib, and he had expressed his desire to sleep in a bed like his Aunt, so Tom now slept in his own bed in their apartment.

"Auntie, I hope you like my present tomorrow," he said after he was tucked in. "I made it," he added. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

"I know I will love it, especially if you made it." With that he closed his eyes, and she switched the light off before closing the door. Nana Mary and Papa Charlie were waiting back in the other room. They had all agreed to wait one hour before setting out the rest of the presents from Santa under the tree. Papa Charlie smiled as she walked in, and Nana Mary's eyes twinkled at her.

"It's nice to have a family again," he said, and Nana Mary nodded her agreement. "After our son died, the house felt so lonely during the holidays. He was our only child."

"You and Tom bring life back into the house," Nana Mary told her gently. Zia shook her head.

"I don't know what I would have done without both of you; I wouldn't have found Tom or at least been able to take care of him without all the help that you two have provided," she explained.

"Family is important for everyone," said Nana Mary. They were all silent for a moment. Then they began a conversation about the plans for next day. This carried them until it was time to place the other presents under the tree, and soon everybody was in bed. Zia listened to the sound of Tom's breathing, smiling at how worried he had been over Santa's ability to find him, then fell asleep.

She felt a little poke on her arm. Then another one. It felt like early morning, but she didn't want to open her eyes.

"Auntie!" came a semi-frantic whisper. "Auntie get up! It's Christmas!"

"Okay I'm coming," she mumbled, opening her eyes and blinking slowly so her eyes could adjust. Tom's excited face came into view, as he tugged on her hand to get her up.

"Come on! Hurry up!" he ran over and grabbed her bathrobe, holding it up for her. She took it, put it on and saw that her slippers were already positioned on the floor. She smiled at Tom's excitement, and stood up, letting him tug her into the sitting room. He pulled her to the tree, pointing out the new presents from Santa, then over to the stockings, which were now filled. "Papa Charlie was right, he did know," he said.

"Of course I was right! I've been around long enough to know about how Santa works, you see," Papa Charlie's voice sounded almost as excited as Tom's. Zia turned to watch as Papa Charlie and Nana Mary both entered the room, smiling merrily.

"We'll open stockings now, then have breakfast. After breakfast we can work on the rest of the gifts," Nana Mary said, sitting down on one of the couches with her husband. "Tom first, since you're the youngest." Tom ran to his stocking, unhooked it from its place on the mantle, and brought it over, sitting on the floor in front of Zia. He reached into the stocking an pulled out a little bundle of candy canes tied together with a green ribbon, smiling up at them all excitedly. Mary nodded encouragingly, and he continued to pull various treats out until the stocking was empty and he was surrounded by things like fruit, Christmas fudge, and peppermint bark. Then, in order of age, the rest of them went through their stockings, pulling out things similar to his. After this, they went in to eat breakfast (it had sausage and bacon, they decided to use both) and traipsed back into the sitting room.

They opened their gifts in turns, one person at a time. Zia received a new coat from Nana Mary and Papa Charlie, Tom a new pair of snow boots and an umbrella for rain. Zia gave Tom a pair of green crocheted mittens to match his scarf, a tie for Papa Charlie, and a new stirring spoon for Nana Mary since she always said she needed more. From Santa came a variety of wind-up toys for Tom. Zia enjoyed watching each of them open their gifts; she had always liked to watch others open up presents just to see how happy they looked. They quickly got through all the presents when Tom got up and ran to the back bedroom, then came back with a little package.

"Here," he said handing it to Zia. She remembered what he had said the night before about making her a present and she was curious as to what he could have made her.

"Should I open it now?" she asked him.

"Yes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Open it!" She opened the outer wrapping and then removed several layers of tissue paper to find what was nestled inside. She took it out of the tissue paper with trembling fingers.

It was a necklace with a large wooden charm with a coiled snake carved onto the front. The carving looked difficult and intricate, but she didn't want to think about him holding a carving tool in his chubby little hands. He leaned forward to whisper into her ear, "I used my special skills to do it. Nana Mary and Papa Charlie think I bought it with saved up money." She instantly felt relieved. Then she noticed something and turned the necklace to the side.

It was a locket. A heavy locket with a snake on the front. Immediately, her stomach knotted itself up.

"Open it!" he urged. She did and saw a tiny picture of him inside, and written in tiny letters 'to Auntie Zia, love Tom.' She looked down at him, and saw that his round face was anxious, as if he wasn't sure that she liked it or not. "Auntie? Do you like it?"

"I love it." She smiled down at him and he gave her a hug. Nana Mary and Papa Charlie were smiling too.

"It's a snake!" he said excitedly.

Zia smiled. His birthday gift would be perfect.


	7. Birthday

Author's note again! Hey guys, I'm sorry the updates have been getting slow! I'll give you a little explanation to go with my apology: college. I promise I'm not going to quit this story until it's done, but now you know that when updates are slow in coming, it's because I've been brain fried from homework. This chapter has a little bit of a twist, and just so you guys know, sometimes the story writes itself, so even I didn't see this one coming! Again, thank you for all the positive reviews, (I read all of them!) and I am so glad you guys are enjoying the story! Enjoy!

-Pneuma

* * *

It was Tom's birthday, and he was turning two. It was also New Year's Eve, so London was busy with people looking for various things to help celebrate the event. Zia wove in and out of passersby as she traveled through the streets of London, turning down one street then another. Tom was with Nana Mary and Papa Charlie so that she could pick up his birthday present. She almost walked right by a bookshop when something in the window caught her eye. Smiling, she walked inside the shop.

"May I see your book on snakes please?" she asked the elderly man at the front desk. He eyed her curiously through his spectacles, and she could tell he was wondering what she wanted it for, but he got up and pulled the book from the window. Returning, he handed it to her so she could inspect it. The book was new and well bound. She opened it and flipped through the chapters, looking at the various illustrations and skimming the bits of information found there. Deeming it satisfactory, she asked "How much?" The man pursed his lips slightly, and she could almost see the gears working in his head as he calculated a price.

"Two pounds," he responded. Zia opened her purse and rifled through it for several seconds, triumphantly pulled out the two pounds, and handed them to the old man. He took them and then wrapped the book in brown paper, tied it up with string, and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she told him, and left the store. The book wasn't Tom's big present, but she thought he might like having a new choice for their bedtime reading. Zia had a very small collection of books at their apartment, comprised mainly of old books from Nana Mary and Papa Charlie. Sometimes she would get a newspaper and bring that home to read if there were any articles she thought he might like. They read every evening. He would climb onto her lap, she would hold the book in front of both of them, and then she would read out loud as he looked at the pages. This would be his first new book, as all of the others were used and tattered.

She continued her quest through the streets and found the place she was looking for. A little bell tinkled as she walked in and up to the front counter. The clerk here was a younger man, and he already knew what she was there for; she had made arrangements and paid for it in advance. He walked back and very carefully picked up the gift, bringing it up to the counter. She bent down a little and gazed at it, hoped that this was a good decision, and then stood straight again.

"Can you cover it with something so I can take it on the bus?" she asked the man.

"Of course," he smiled, knowing why she would ask him that. Moments later, the gift was ready. She put the package that was the book on her arm using the string tied around it as an anchor, and then with both hands balanced the other gift carefully against her to shield it from the cold outside, thanked the man, and walked to the bus stop. When the bus arrived, she got on and balanced the gift on her lap, being careful not to let it be jostled as the bus moved. Nana Mary and Papa Charlie already knew what it was, and she was glad Nana Mary had been alright with its temporary presence in their cottage. It would be relocated to the apartment at the end of the day.

When she finally arrived back at their home, Papa Charlie walked to meet her at the gate and took the larger gift carefully from her, and then they both walked into the house. Tom ran forward to his aunt and looked up at her eagerly.

"Is it time yet auntie Zia?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation. He had somehow deduced that this present was the big one of the year, better than any of the gifts he had received for Christmas, and he had been asking every day. Sometimes she forgot that he was only two since he acted so much older than his age, but she saw no reason to treat him as if he was younger than he acted as she felt that it would be an insult to his intelligence. Zia smiled back down at him.

"It is indeed time, Tom," she told him. "You need to go sit down so you can open them up, alright?" He ran to the big armchair close to the fire and sat in it. She placed the book onto his lap first, and watched as he opened it. Tom was not the kind of child to rip the wrapping off, so they sat there as he carefully nudged the string off, then unfolded the paper.

"A new book!" he exclaimed, picking up the heavy volume with a small amount of effort. He looked at it, then up at Zia. "What is it about?"

"It's about snakes, Tom. I thought it might be nice to have something new to read at bedtime," she answered. He nodded and placed it gently down on the small table next to the chair. Papa Charlie then stepped forward with the big present. This present was a bit too large for Tom's lap, so Papa Charlie placed it on the floor for him to uncover. Tom sat behind it and pulled off the covering. His eyes grew wide as he stared at it, and Zia felt like she might pop open from nerves, now fervently wishing she had picked something else. Anything else.

Inside the glass tank, which was still warm from being held against her, was coiled a small yellow snake. Tom's mouth was open a little bit, and his head snapped up to meet hers.

"It's a real one, isn't it auntie," he said. It was not a question.

"Yes, Tom. You will have to take very good care of it. I bought everything it needs for now, like the warmer for the tank and the little bowls for its water, but it will need food," she told him. He looked back at it. The snake raised its head and looked at Tom through the glass. She knew it was looking at him, she didn't know how she knew, but she knew. Nana Mary smiled at how enthralled Tom looked, then announced that she would be starting dinner. Papa Charlie followed her, and Zia moved to where Tom was and sat next to him on the floor.

"Auntie," he whispered, turning to look at her. "Auntie it's talking to me."

"I know Tom. I knew it would. It's one of your special skills," she whispered back to him. "What is it saying?" Then she stopped speaking. She stopped moving. She leaned closer to the glass, feeling her stomach drop. The snake's head was turned towards her now.

_Why don't you listen for yourself, Zia? Tom isn't the only one here who can understand me, is he?_

Zia turned her head slowly and found Tom looking back at her. They both stared at each other.

"_Auntie, why didn't you tell me you had special skill too?_" Tom whispered, speaking in Parseltongue. She found herself unable to speak. The snake spoke for her.

_She didn't know._


	8. The Talk

Zia was moving around the kitchen in the apartment, pulling ingredients from various cabinets to put dinner together. Tom was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the yellow snake twining itself in and out of his fingers. Zia glanced over at him.

"Tom, can you get the frying pan for me?" He waved his free hand at the cupboard and the door opened, then the frying pan sailed down from the highest shelf and came to rest on the counter next to her. This was a normal occurrence in the apartment, since the highest shelves were too tall for her to reach without a chair or reaching with precarious balance on tiptoe. Tom seemed to enjoy any opportunities she gave him to use his special skills, so she asked him for help often. "Did you figure out a name yet?" she asked him. He looked up, his plump little face turning towards her.

"Auntie," he said slowly, "You talk to her too. I know you do because I hear you at night. You already know, don't you?" She tried to hide a smile, but did not succeed. Tom's mouth quirked, mirroring hers.

"You caught me," she said, now pulling out mixing bowls and stirring spoons. "It's Honovi, right?" He nodded his affirmation. Then his forehead wrinkled into a frown as he looked at her.

"Why doesn't Honovi know her family?" he asked quietly. "She says she doesn't remember them." Zia looked at him, and she could tell he was really bothered by this. Putting down the measuring cup she was filling with flour, she crossed the kitchen and sat across from him.

"Tom, snake families work different from human families. You remember from your snake book how they are born from eggs, right?"

"Yes."

"Well when their moms are ready to lay the eggs, they find a nice hole, and they go in there and lay those eggs. But snake moms don't stay with the eggs, they leave after they lay the eggs. When the eggs hatch, the little baby snakes come out and learn how to fend for themselves," she explained.

"What about their fathers?" he asked.

"Their fathers don't know that their mothers are going to lay the eggs, snakes don't stay together," she said. Tom's frown deepened.

"Am I a snake auntie?" he whispered. She got up and crouched down next to him, looking into his eyes seriously.

"Tom, why would you think that?"

"My mother didn't stay with me, and my father didn't know, did he," he said. It was not a question. Zia scooped Tom up and set him on her lap. Honovi was still twined between his fingers, but her head was raised inquisitively, listening for the answer just as intently as Tom was.

"No sweetheart, your father didn't know. But your mother I am sure would have stayed with you if she had not died." He looked pained. She had already told him about his mother, but it was still hard for him to cope with the idea that she hadn't been able to stay alive for him. "But humans, we make families. I'm your family, aren't I?"

"You are," he replied.

"And Nana Mary and Papa Charlie, they may not be blood related to us, but aren't they your family?"

"Yes." Zia then turned her attention to the snake.

_"And Honovi is family too, isn't she?"_ Zia spoke in Parseltongue. The snake turned its head to Tom, waiting for his answer.

_"Yes she is,"_ he said. Zia could tell that he was beginning to feel better.

"_Families are all different Tom. Honovi is a snake, and we are humans, but there are things about everyone that are alike. Honovi's snake family may not have been around her, but we adopted her. Just like I adopted you. When people take care of each other and make each other happy, that is a kind of family, don't you think so?"_ she continued.

"I know so," he replied. His wrinkled forehead had relaxed and the frown was gone. He looked relieved, and she wondered how long he had been thinking about this. It pained her to think about how he would have felt in the orphanage, alone, asking himself these same questions but with nobody there for him. Then he looked up at her, and she could tell he was ready to ask another question. "Auntie, if you have special skills too, why don't you ever use them? Honovi said you had them, but you didn't even know. How did you even know I had them?" This was a question she knew would come up eventually, but she hadn't known it would be so soon. She had to lie again, and she wasn't sure how to do it, but she would try.

"Well your mother had special skills. Our whole family did, and all of our ancestors. I didn't spend very much time with them because nobody could see any special skills in me when I was your age. They sent me to live somewhere else most of the time," she told him. Tom's face crinkled back into a frown.

"Why would they do that?" he asked, clearly indignant for her.

"Do you know what another word for special skills is?" she asked him. He shook his head. "It's magic. Your mother's and my family didn't like people who can't do magic. People like Nana Mary and Papa Charlie." Tom's face grew more indignant.

"That's a bad reason to dislike somebody," he said firmly.

"Yes it is. A very bad reason," she agreed with him. "But there are some people who have magic who think that way. They think that they are better than people who can't do it. They even think that they are better than people who have magic that have parents who don't."

"Well they don't know Nana Mary and Papa Charlie," he said, as if that settled the matter. Zia smiled.

"No, they don't."

_And they don't get to eat the crickets from Nana Mary's garden,_ Honovi added. Zia was surprised by the snake's remark, but pleased that it was backing her up.

"Speaking of eating, I should go finish making our dinner!" she said, and set Tom back onto his chair.

"Auntie, I like our family," he told her.

"I do too, Tom. We've got a good one," she replied.

That night, after making sure Tom was asleep Zia took Honovi out of her tank, and went to sit on the couch. The yellow snake twisted herself around Zia's hand, eyes on her.

_"Honovi, how did you know I had magic when I had no idea? And why didn't they ever show up before?"_ The snake blinked.

_I knew you had them when I first saw you through the glass of the tank. I can tell when a human can speak my language, and they can only do that if they can do magic. As for not showing up…I can't really say. _

_"Even now, though, the only thing I've ever done that was magical was talk to you."_

_The only thing you've ever tried was talking to me, Zia. _

_"I have no training."_

_Neither does Tom, and he manages it just fine. Why don't you try? _The snake pointed with her tail to the book on the kitchen table; Zia had been reading about how snakes hatching out of their eggs to Tom that evening. Zia bit her lip and turned to face it, concentrating on it, willing it to move toward her. Nothing. She stared harder at it. Nothing. She frowned, focusing all her attention on it. Then, something.

Slowly, shakily, the book rose. Then just as slowly, just as shakily, it moved through the air, falling finally next to her.

_Practice makes perfect._


	9. The Alley

"Where are we going Auntie?" Tom asked, his hand tightly held in Zia's, skipping along next to her. The air was chilly that day, and both of them wore coats and gloves. Zia was scanning buildings, looking from place to place, searching.

"Shopping, if I can find the place," she replied. "If you see a little pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron' that's where we need to go."

"Why?" he asked. She smiled down at him as they walked. Tom had started reading out loud to her a month before. She knew that it was going to happen before other children, and she really hadn't been surprised when he sat on her lap one evening and began reading to her about snakes shedding their skin. Then he began to ask her about everything. He wanted to know why the moon changed shapes, why Honovi didn't eat bread, why Zia didn't behave like other women sometimes, and he wanted to know about magic. The questions about magic were the kind Zia couldn't answer when he asked them, but she was determined to find him answers.

"Because if we go there, we can get some books that they don't sell in the bookshops we are used to," she answered.

"What kinds of books?" Zia squeezed his hand gently.

"Books about magic." His eyes lit up immediately, and she watched with amusement as his eyes darted from place to place, looking for the place where the promised books would be. He was always excited to learn more about magic, and she couldn't blame him. The world of Harry Potter had fascinated her since she was a child, and here she was, walking through London with little Tom Riddle clinging to her hand, looking for The Leaky Cauldron. It was strange to her in many ways, but in other ways it was as if she fit in perfectly, like she was supposed to be there. They turned the corner, and both she and Tom let out a soft gasp.

"There it is auntie," Tom whispered, pointing covertly to the shabby looking pub. He tugged her hand a little, impatient to get there. She allowed him to gently pull her along the street, and pressed her lips together over a smile at his intense determination to get there as fast as possible. They reached the door and she bent down and picked him up, balancing him against one hip as she opened the door.

The room was dimly lit, and there were wizards and witches scattered across the room, sitting at various tables. A few hushed conversations were punctuated by a couple loud ones, but nobody paid any attention to the two newcomers. She walked up to the counter.

"May I speak to Tom?" she asked. Little Tom turned his head questioningly to her, then to the man who approached them. He looked like he still had all his teeth, but his hair was certainly thinning.

"That's me," he said holding out his hand for her to shake. Zia took it and shook hands with him, noticing the brief look of irritation on her Tom's face. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to get into Diagon Alley, but I don't have a wand. Also, if there is a place where I can change Muggle money, could you give me directions?" she asked, realizing that she wasn't quite sure how this was done. The barman nodded and took them through to the back and then into the alleyway. Pulling out his own wand, he tapped the brick and the wall melted away to reveal a bright street crammed with shops.

"You can exchange Muggle money in that building there," he said, pointing to the imposing marble building that she was sure was Gringotts. "And…after you do that you may want to get yourself a new wand. Did yours break?"

"I was never fortunate enough to get one," she responded firmly, but politely. He looked confused, but didn't press the issue. "Thank you very much for your help," she said, smiling. He smiled back at her, and then went back to the Leaky Cauldron. "Alright, let's go get some money," she said to the child whose fingers were fisted around parts of her dress. She noted that they looked out of place walking along the street in their Muggle clothes while the other people passing them wore robes of various colors.

"Muggles are the people who don't have magic, right?" Tom asked, waiting for Zia to verify this.

"Yes they are," she confirmed. They reached the building and she saw the goblins standing on either side of the door.

"_Enter, stranger, but take heed…of what awaits the sin of greed_…_for those who take, but do not earn,_ _must pay most dearly in their turn._ _So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours,_ _thief, you have been warned, beware_, _of finding more than treasure there."_ Tom read the words quietly from the poem engraved into the doors, speaking into Zia's ear. She felt her skin prickle as the goblins scrutinized at them with shrewd eyes, never looking away until they were inside the bank. She held Tom closer to her protectively, and walked over to one of the desks, looking warily at the goblin behind it.

"I'm here to exchange Muggle money," she stated, pulling out a purse full of money she had been saving up. The goblin nodded and took the purse, counting out the coins and bills, then replaced the contents with some coins. It was a quick transaction, and she was glad for that because the bank made her feel uneasy. They left quickly and moved back into the light of the street. She looked down at Tom, who was staring back at the goblins guarding the door in a similar way to how they were staring at him. "Are you ready to explore?" she asked him. He pulled his eyes away from the goblins and looked up at her instead.

"Yep! Where first?" he asked, and she could see the deep interest and enthusiasm apparent on his face. He was looking from place to place so fast she wondered if he would get whiplash.

"Flourish and Blotts, it's the bookstore."

"There!" he pointed, identifying it. Zia smiled and walked to the bookshop with him. It was a cozy shop, with various intriguing displays (_Wizard Wars of the 18__th__ Century, _and _Spells for the Stressed, _among others) and a little table featuring quills of all kinds, various colors of ink, and parchment. She walked to the front desk, and rang the little bell for the bookkeeper.

"May I help you?" a smartly dressed witch in deep purple robes appeared from behind a set of bookshelves asked.

"I'm looking for a simple book about magical theory, one about magical creatures, and a basic spell book." Zia told her. "If there are any stories for children that would be wonderful too." The witch nodded and disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a small stack of books.

"I recommend these," she said, holding out the stack. Zia looked through them and smiled at some of the titles she recognized. She looked up at the witch and nodded.

"These are perfect, I'll buy them. Thank you very much for your help, you knew exactly where to go," she told her. The witch beamed at the praise, and bustled off behind the counter with the books, added up the prices, and Zia paid for them. The witch waved at them as they left and Tom, to Zia's mild surprise, waved back at her. Zia and Tom proceeded to visit any shop that looked interesting, and Zia bought a couple different kinds of wizard candy for them to try back home. Tom looked as if he had gone to a theme park. "I think it's time we left for home," she said after a few hours of wandering from shop to shop. Tom frowned.

"No auntie, you still need to get one thing. Did you forget?"

"And what thing would that be Tom? We've got a lot of things to get home with us already," she told him. He sighed exasperatedly, as if she was missing the most crucial part of the entire trip.

"You heard what the barkeeper man said, right?"

"Which part?"

"Auntie. You still need a _wand._"


	10. Wands and Names

Zia bit her lip, standing in front of Ollivander's wand shop, arguments chasing each other in her mind as to whether she should get one or not. She'd never had formal training, obviously, and most likely wouldn't ever get it due to her age. Her entire knowledge of magic thus far was limited to what she knew from the original Harry Potter books. She didn't know if it was a good idea to have a wand or not, especially if she had no idea how to use it, but Tom was insistent. He pinched her shoulder gently.

"Go in!"

"Tom, I'm not sure if I—" she began, but the disapproving frown crossing his little face clearly stated that she was going to do it or he would consider the day wasted.

"Be brave Auntie!" he encouraged. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door. A soft tinkle from a bell signified their arrival. The shop was slightly dusty, and true to the book was filled with stacks of boxes that were thin and tailored, Zia was sure, to the size of the wands inside. A man appeared suddenly, surprising them both.

"I am Mr. Ollivander. You're here for a wand, I presume? And it's your first," he observed, seemingly taking note of her age but not appearing very surprised at her lack of a wand. She nodded, having momentarily lost the ability to speak. Tom was gazing interestedly at Mr. Ollivander, with occasional glances around the shop. "Well we will have to try them out, let's get to business," he said. "Your wand arm?" Zia set Tom down and put out her right arm. A measuring tape was produced and began measuring her while Ollivander bustled around the shop pulling various boxes off of shelves. She wondered if the measurements had anything to do with the wand, and also how the boxes stayed in stacks as he pulled various boxes right out of the middle of the columns. He came back and set the pile of wand boxes in front of her carefully.

Tom was sitting on a little stool, watching the proceedings with fascination. Mr. Ollivander would pull out a wand, hand it to Zia, and she would wave it. Wand after wand, and nothing was happening. Zia was feeling discouraged, but Ollivander seemed to be getting more and more excited with every failed attempt. She would work through one pile of boxes only to find another pile replacing it. Finally, after another unsuccessful attempt, she looked down to find that there were no more wands on the desk. She stared at the empty desk, wondering if it was possible that she had tried every wand in the shop.

Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat and she looked up at him. His eyes were gleaming with a kind of bright happy madness. "You're a tricky one…very unusual…but I think perhaps the time has come," he said more to himself than to her, and he disappeared into the recesses of the shop. It took more time for Ollivander to come back with the wand than for the previous wands. He was holding the box gingerly, almost reverently, as he walked back to where she was standing. "Try this," he whispered excitedly, opening the box and holding the wand out to her. She took it from him and waved it. Sparks shot from the tip of the wand, and Mr. Ollivander's face was illuminated in the sparkling light. He looked extremely pleased. "That's the one, then! Oh, and what an interesting connection. When I made that wand…well I didn't know if it would ever be sold, really. Strange combination, you see."

"Strange combination?" Tom asked from his spot on the stool. Ollivander looked at him, then back at Zia.

"Elder and Unicorn hair, 12 and a half inches, surprisingly swishy," he responded. "Powerful, very powerful, but loyal to its first master. And it is so very rare to match a wand with Elder wood. Such contrast in one wand…you must be a very unusual sort of person. _Very_ unusual." He was eying her more interestedly than he had when she had first walked into the shop, as if the world had given him some kind of happy present. He placed the wand back into the box, and she gave him eleven galleons for it. She noticed that it was more expensive than Harry's had been in the book, and wondered if it was because she was older of if it was the strange nature of the wand. Tom stood, and she picked him up, walked out onto the street, then they left the alley through the Leaky Cauldron. As they left, Tom the barman walked up to shake her hand once more. "Hope to see you again," he said to Zia, smiling.

"Thank you, I'm sure you will," Zia replied, and she noticed again the fleeting pained expression on the child's face. They exited through the front door of the pub and re-entered the Muggle world they were used to, now carrying a copious number of bags and packages, and the thin box that contained her wand. Tom tugged on her dress, and she recognized this as a sign that he wanted to walk now. She set him down, and he curled his fingers around her right little finger, since the majority of her hand was holding some of the bags. They walked in silence until the bus stop, then got on and sat down, surrounding themselves in a sea of magical purchases.

"Auntie," Tom began hesitantly. Zia looked down at him. "Auntie, that man had my name. And you _smiled_ at him," he said, his face pulled into a pout. "You let him shake your _hand!_"

"I did," Zia answered, looking at him. "Why is that a terrible thing Tom?"

"Because it's _my_ name. And I don't like that he has it!" Zia nodded slowly, understanding what he was saying.

"So you want your name to be unique, am I right?" she asked him.

"Yes!" he answered emphatically.

"Should we pick you a new one then?" He considered this.

"Like what?"

"Well perhaps Pookie? Or Snagdoodle?" she offered, coming up with the most un-Tom-like names she could think of. He wrinkled his nose.

"No thank you," he said. She ruffled his hair.

"Tom, do you want to know the trick to having a unique name?" she asked him. He nodded, looking up at her.

"Well, your name is Tom. And that other man's name is Tom. But you are different. Different personalities, different appearances, different minds. You have the same name, it's true. But what you make of that name, that is what makes it unique," she said.

"What do you mean, what I make of that name?" he asked her, looking puzzled.

"What kind of person you grow up to be will change the meaning of your name until it is vastly different from any other Tom out there. When you grow up, I hope that you will attach to your name the intelligence you have, the passion you have for learning more, your curiosity, and your goodness. When people know you, or hear your name, they will think of those things. They will think of the way you behave, the way you smile, the way you treat other people, those are all parts of your name," she explained. Tom was silent, and she could tell he was processing this in his head, dissecting it and taking it in.

"I like that. I want to make my name," he said. "I want to make it mine." Zia smiled.

"You're already starting on it."


	11. School

Hello everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated, finals are coming up in college and I've been really busy! I hope this chapter isn't as scatterbrained as I am right now. This one will have two perspectives, so the lines from here on out designate a point of view shift. Thank you to everyone who has read it so far, I'm really glad you've enjoyed it! I hope you like this one too!

-Pneuma

* * *

"Come out and show me Tom!" Zia called through the door of the fitting room. Zia was taking Tom shopping for some new clothes, and Tom had insisted that she sit outside of the fitting room door while he tried on the clothes. She wasn't quite sure why he was so adamant about it, since he was only four years old, but there were a lot of things that Tom did that other children didn't. Birthdays and holidays had come and gone, and as she sat waiting for him to emerge she realized that she had been taking care of him for three years. During those years, she had continued working as a secretary for Papa Charlie's office and took Tom to various places when they had a little extra money so that he could learn more about the world. Occasionally they made small trips to Diagon Alley, because she felt that it was important for both of them to learn about the magical world. Yet Tom was learning at a much faster pace than the average child, and she felt that it was time for him to attend a muggle primary school.

"How is this?" Tom's voice interrupted her thoughts and she examined his clothes.

"It looks nice, you did a good job putting it all on," she informed him. He smiled for a moment, then his face darkened and she received a suspicious look.

"Why are you getting me new clothes?"

"Because you need them," she replied. His eyes narrowed.

"Tell the whole truth, Auntie." She sighed. He always knew when she wasn't telling him everything.

"I've enrolled you in the primary school close to where we live. I want you to learn how to do some of the basic things they teach there," Zia explained. Tom's lower lip poked out in a pout.

"But I don't _want _to learn those things. I'd rather stay home with you."

"Tom, you know that I went to muggle schools when I was little don't you?" she asked him.

"I never thought of that," he said. She could tell that he was rearranging priorities in his mind now. Sometimes she found it strange how easily they could read each other, but she guessed that it was because of how often they were around each other. "When does it start?"

She bit her lip apprehensively. "Tomorrow." His eyes flashed.

"_Tomorrow?! _You didn't even warn me. Auntie, that's too soon. I refuse. I refuse to go," he said stubbornly. She sighed.

"Tom, you know that we don't have a lot of money. I want to start saving now for when you need to go to school to study magic, and to do that I have to keep working. I can't teach you everything that I'd like you to know by then with how much I work, there isn't enough time in the day for me to do all that. I know that you're ready to go to school, I know that you're a quick learner." She told him. He shook his head.

"No. You didn't tell me until now, that's inconsiderate." Zia patted the spot next to her, indicating that Tom should sit there. He slowly walked over and climbed onto the seat.

"Tom, I know it is short notice, and I apologize for not telling you earlier. I wasn't actually sure when it started, and I only barely enrolled you a couple days ago. But what I said is true. I would not have done this if I didn't think you were ready. I want you to learn what you can while I'm working during the days, and I will come and get you when school is done. We don't have a lot of money and I cannot afford to stay home and give you the education you deserve to keep up with your level of intelligence. I'm only one person." Tom stared at the wall, completely still and silent. He was processing her words, and she could tell he was still upset. After what seemed like an eternity, he touched her hand.

"You'll come get me every single day? And take me in the mornings?"

"Of course," she replied.

"And in the evenings we will read and practice our magic?"

"Definitely."

"And you'll still take me places on Sundays when we can? Holidays too?" She laughed.

"Of course, Tom! Just because you're at school learning doesn't mean we're not going to see each other every day."

"Okay. I will go, and I will make you proud of me, I promise." He told her resolutely. Zia smiled.

"Now let's finish getting you those clothes!"

* * *

Tom stood at the door and watched his aunt leave, then reluctantly turned into the classroom. He Aunt Zia had been greeted by an older woman, who had introduced herself as his teacher, Mrs. Parker. Looking around, he took note of the other children already in the room. Then Mrs. Parker directed him to his seat, which was identified by a folded piece of paper with his name written on it neatly. Auntie Zia had gotten him new clothes and school supplies the day before, and although he had promised her he would go and do well, he still didn't like it. A girl sat next to him.

"I'm May!" she said excitedly.

"Tom," he replied simply.

"Nice to meet you, is it your first day?"

"Yes."

"You look younger than me. I'm six. How old are you?" she asked him. He was slightly annoyed with her questions, but answered anyways.

"Four." After a few more questions, May finally went quiet because Mrs. Parker began class, for which Tom was grateful since her questions annoyed him. He sat there quietly and calmly even though the rest of the children were fidgeting. He listened intently when the teacher spoke. He did his work when it was given to him. Then it was time to play.

Tom walked to the building blocks, and began construction of the castle he had seen in the books his Auntie bought from Diagon Alley. Two other boys moved next to him, and blocked his way.

"You don't have a dad, do you?" one of them asked. Tom frowned, said nothing, and tried to move around the boys to his block castle.

"You don't even have a proper mum, we saw. You're raised by your aunt. What happened, too ugly for your real parents? Bet they took a look at you and dropped you as soon as they could," the other boy said. Tom felt his face grow hot, and glared at the boys now.

"Get out of my way." The boys laughed.

"You're younger, and you're smaller. I'd like to see you try to make me," the boy said.

"I'll repeat myself once. Get out of my way," Tom said softly. His voice was icy, and his hands were balled into fists. The boy who had spoken last cracked his knuckles.

"And your aunt? Ugliest creature I've ever seen. I'm not even sure it's female. It does resemble you, though," he continued. Tom saw red.

"Don't. Insult. My. Auntie."

* * *

The phone rang at the office, and Zia picked it up, bringing it to her ear.

"This is Mr. Tanner, principle of South London Primary School, may I speak to Zia Gaunt?" came a voice over the phone.

"This is she," Zia replied, wondering if she had messed up some of the enrollment forms.

"Your nephew is Tom Riddle, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. May I ask why you are calling?"

"There's been some trouble at school."


	12. The Principal's Office

**Author's note! **

**Hi everyone, I am so sorry for how long it has taken me to get this chapter to you all. Finals week was intense, and then I had to get everything packed up and drive back home. Then once I got home, my family went on vacation, so I've been really busy. I finally got some spare time, so of course I used it to finish up this chapter for you all! I'm on break from school right now, so I'm going to try to get in more updates. I hope you enjoy the chapter! **

**-Pneuma**

* * *

Zia had to take the bus to get to the school from the doctor's office. Papa Charlie and his associates had given her permission to get off work early for the day due to the nature of the circumstances. She got off at the closest bus stop, walked briskly to the school, and headed straight for the principal's office where she had been invited to learn about what happened. She knocked on the door, and Mr. Tanner's voice indicated that she should enter.

She walked in to find Tom sitting in a chair on one side of the room, and two boys in chairs on the other side of the room, next to who she assumed were their mothers. The two other women glared at her as she entered, their eyes clearly suspicious and accusing. The principal looked up from some papers on his desk as she entered, and waved a hand to an empty chair by Tom. Zia sat.

"What happened?" Zia asked calmly, although she didn't feel nearly as calm as she sounded. She was trying to think of all the different things that could have happened and wondering what she would do about each scenario she came up with. Tom looked up at her, his face expressionless except for a hint of sullen anger she could see turning the corners of his mouth down slightly and the almost dangerous flash in his eyes. She shook her head 'no' very slightly, and she knew he understood that he was not to speak unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Your son seems to have been involved in some kind of scuffle with these two boys," Mr. Tanner said. Zia looked directly at him, her face impassive.

"My nephew, you mean? What kind of scuffle?" The principal's eyebrows pushed together, as if he wasn't sure how to explain, but one of the other boys spoke up.

"That little freak somehow put us in a cage made of the building blocks he was using. I'm not sure how, but I know it was him. He's creepy. Maybe he's some kind of demon," the boy said, pointing a finger at Tom. Zia raised her eyebrows, and the principal seemed to have regained his confidence.

"Don't you think that is a little unreasonable, Danny?" the principal asked the boy. Danny's eyes narrowed.

"He did it. I know it was him," the other boy said. Zia turned to face the boys.

"Why do you think it was Tom? Would there perhaps be a reason that you are blaming my nephew for this? Did something happen that might cause you to think that he would feel the need to do something like this, assuming that it's possible?" she asked the boys. Neither of them said anything, and Zia watched with a small amount of satisfaction as they squirmed uncomfortably. She knew then that something had indeed happened to provoke Tom's actions. She had no doubt that their story about the blocks was completely plausible, excluding the demon accusations, but she was less interested in _what_ had happened and more concerned with _why _it had happened. She sat patiently, eyes moving slowly from one boy's face to the other, making it clear that she expected answers, but they stayed quiet.

"Why don't you ask your nephew why he did it?" one of the women asked icily. Zia could tell that the two women saw her as inferior to them for whatever reason, and was determined to keep her ground. She turned her gaze to the woman who had spoken.

"Because I'd like to know the side of the story from your childrens' perspectives. Obviously they feel certain that whatever happened was caused by my nephew. However, if I have gauged the scenario accurately, there is no proof behind those accusations. If they feel that there was a motive, I would like to know, in their words, what it might have been." The woman, who appeared as if she was planning to argue while Zia was explaining her reasons, closed her mouth, and instead chose to glare at Zia. Zia turned back to the two boys. "So, what happened? It might be better if you told me now, because I have time to sit and wait for your answers, but I doubt that you two would like to remain here for any longer than necessary."

One of them looked at his friend, then back at Zia. "We were talking to him," he said.

"About…?"

"His family."

"And what about this conversation do you think could have made him upset enough to do something to you?"

"I don't know." Zia raised her eyebrows, and looked directly at the boy in a way that she could tell made him uncomfortable.

"I think you do know, because if you didn't know then you wouldn't be so sure that it was Tom." The child seemed to be hypnotized by her steady gaze, and the answer came out with difficulty as if extracted against his will.

"We told him that his parents didn't want him and that was why you were raising him," the boy began. Zia frowned, and the boy continued hastily "But it's the truth! That's why children are raised by other people, their own parents don't want them!"

"Is there anything else that was said?"

"We…we made fun of you."

"I see. Thank you for telling me," she told him, and looked up at the two women standing behind their children. "Now doesn't this make a bit more sense?" The women looked furious, but the principle seemed to be engaged in a struggle between his mind and his face as he attempted to look neutral but couldn't keep the amusement from creeping into his expression as he began to speak.

"Considering the circumstances, I think it might be best to have the boys apologize to one another, and then let them go home. I expect that you will discuss this with your children, and when they arrive at school tomorrow, they will meet with me individually to talk about what they learned from you. Is this agreeable?" he asked.

"It sounds good to me," Zia answered. The other two women agreed. Tom looked at the two boys.

"I am sorry that I was unable to stay calm while you insulted me and my family. In the future I will try harder to do so," he told them with a small smile, holding his hand out to shake. Zia looked over at the principal and he seemed close to laughter now, but fighting it diligently. The boy who had confessed came up first.

"I'm sorry I said those things to you," he grumbled, and shook Tom's hand, and the other boy repeated him. Then the two women and their children swept from the office. Mr. Tanner came out from behind his desk and held his hand out for Zia to shake.

"You handled yourself well, I'm impressed. Parents usually don't care to know why something happened, usually they just want to see someone punished so they can get on with their day," he told her.

"My goal is to help Tom learn from his mistakes, not simply be punished for them, and I felt that since those two boys were involved perhaps I could at least help them recognize their mistake even if I can't help them learn from it myself," Zia replied.

"From what I see, you've done it very well," he said, and then bent down to Tom's level.

"Young man, your teacher told me about your work in class today, she is very impressed. I hope that you will be able to continue your good work." The principal then shook Tom's hand and walked them to the door.

Zia walked with Tom to the bus, and then when it arrived they both got on and she sat him across from her.

"So, what's this about a cage of blocks?" she asked him quietly. He looked at her.

"It wasn't a _cage_, it was a _jail_. They were being bad, Auntie. And bad people go to jail."


	13. Advanced

Author note again!

Hello everyone! I'm so glad I was finally able to get to another chapter of this story, I hope you are all as excited as I am to see where the story is headed next. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint! Also, I'd like to invite you all to look for small allusions I've put into different chapters that connect with the original Harry Potter story regarding Tom Riddle's past. They may not be in every chapter, but some of the chapters have little hints of it added in. If you've noticed any little connections before now, I hope it's added a little bit of fun in to the reading experience. I find myself doing quite a bit of research for parts of the story, and I thought it would be interesting to throw extra bits of it in. As always, enjoy! I'll be getting the next chapter out sooner I promise!

-Pneuma

* * *

There were no more incidents at school for Tom, and that made Zia happy, but he didn't seem to enjoy it. When he would bring home projects he had done in class, they were all done perfectly, but he was never enthusiastic about them. This continued for a few weeks, until his teacher Mrs. Parker called. At first, Zia was worried that something had happened again, but Mrs. Parker instead asked to meet with her after school. Thus Zia found herself sitting at a table outside, watching Tom play on the school's playground, and listening to what Mrs. Parker was saying about Tom's school habits. He didn't seem to like playing with the other children, and he was always done with his work more quickly than the rest of the class.

"Sometimes during play time there will be others, although they're usually much older than he is, and he's always polite to them and is sure to treat them nicely, but for the most part, I think he really prefers doing things on his own. His work is always done quickly, but it is never sloppy and I've never found anything incorrect. I think that he is too advanced for the class," Mrs. Parker told Zia. "Maybe it would be a good idea to talk with Mr. Tanner about putting him into a higher level class. He seems bored with the work we do in my class."

"What class do you think he'd fit in to best?" Zia asked Mrs. Parker.

"Personally, I think he could handle work at least two or three levels above this one."

"Two or three levels? Are you sure about that?" Zia asked her, surprised at the answer. Mrs. Parker smiled rather sheepishly.

"I've been giving him some alternate assignments, just to test his ability level. Honestly, he could probably handle higher than that, but so far I've only given him up to three levels above the current. He did them all easily. I'm not sure what I can do if he stays in my class, he is extremely bright." They both looked over at Tom, who was working determinedly on something in the sandbox.

"Yes, he is," Zia agreed. Tom stood and walked over to them.

"Auntie, will you look?" he asked Zia, tugging on her sleeve until she stood.

"Of course," Zia answered. Mrs. Parker watched, looking interested, as Tom pulled Zia over to the sandbox.

"Do you like it?" It was a large sand sculpture of a dragon, complete with a gust of fire created out of leaves. He leaned in to whisper quietly, "It's a Catalonian Fireball. See the wing shape there, and the angle of the snout."

"I do like it Tom, it's very well done. Did you base that off of the image in our magical creature book?"

"Yep!" he said, looking pleased. Zia smiled at him.

"Mrs. Parker and I were talking about something and I would like for you to come talk with us. I know coming to school wasn't your choice, but I want it to be something you gain from. She has an idea, but before I do anything about it I'd like to know what you want." Tom looked at her and nodded.

"Okay." They both walked back to where Mrs. Parker was sitting, and Tom sat on Zia's lap.

"Mrs. Parker, would you like to talk to Tom about what we were just discussing?" Zia asked. Mrs. Parker's eyes were twinkling.

"Of course," she answered, looking very seriously at Tom. "Tom, you don't seem to be enjoying my class. Do you feel like the work is too easy?" Tom looked up at Zia, with an expression that was plainly asking whether he should lie politely or tell the truth.

"Be honest," Zia encouraged. "She won't mind."

"It's really easy. I don't feel like it does anything," he said simply. He narrowed his eyes a little bit then, studying the teacher. "But you have been giving me some things to do that are different from the other kids. I think because the work is supposed to be more advanced, right? It's still easy though," he added. Mrs. Parker looked surprised, and then laughed merrily.

"You caught me!" she told him. "I was giving you those assignments to see where you may feel more comfortable as a learner."

"I think probably the sixth year would be the best fit if there was a possibility of changing classes. I've looked at some of the books for them, and that work seems a little more challenging," Tom informed her. Mrs. Parker's jaw dropped.

"You…what?"

"Well the fifth year wouldn't work because I help them with their homework during recess sometimes, that's still too easy."

Zia was pressing her lips together firmly to keep from laughing at the expression on Mrs. Parker's face. It was clear that the teacher wasn't used to this side of Tom's personality. To be fair, if Zia didn't know Tom the way she did, it would be a shock to hear a four year old calmly explaining his own mental capacity to a teacher for her too. Yet it was still amusing to watch how other people, who weren't used to it, dealt with his unusual intelligence level.

"Is…is that so?" Mrs. Parker asked Tom.

"It is. So if you were talking about this, then you must know a way that I could move to a higher class?" Tom asked, all business. Mrs. Parker looked at Zia, as if seeking out some kind of island of normalcy, but when Zia simply smiled at her, continued to speak directly to Tom.

"There is. You would have to ask your aunt to help you appeal the situation to Mr. Tanner. There would be some evaluations done of your skill levels, then you would either be approved to move up, or you would stay in my class," Mrs. Parker explained.

"Auntie, can we do it?" Tom asked, looking up at Zia.

"Is that what you want to do?" Zia asked him.

"Yes. You wanted me to come here to learn, and I can't do that very well in a class that is too easy for me."

"That is a very good way to make your decision Tom. Of course we will do our best," Zia said, smiling. Mrs. Parker stood.

"Well, that's all I wanted to talk to you about, and I hope it works out for you," she said, holding her hand out for Zia to shake. The woman looked a little dazed, but mostly like she wanted to get away from them and back to people with more age-appropriate intelligence levels as fast as possible. Zia stood, set Tom down on his feet, and shook her hand.

"Thank you for bringing this to our attention Mrs. Parker."

"You are welcome," Mrs. Parker said, as Tom went to clean the leaves out of the sandbox. "He really opens up in front of you. Children often gather courage when their parents are near. Pity he doesn't have a father, it would be so good for him to have a male role model too. And you don't have anybody special?" Zia took a step back from her, frowning slightly.

"I have a lot of people who are special to me, but none of them is a love interest, if that is what you mean," Zia said quietly.

"Oh goodness! I didn't mean to upset you dear, it's quite alright that you don't. The war took a lot of good young men from us, there aren't enough to go around now," Mrs. Parker said hastily. "Well, I hope that things go well for you and Tom, don't forget that we don't have school next week! Enjoy the break!" With those words, Mrs. Parker turned around and hurried away. Tom walked back to Zia right as Mrs. Parker turned the corner, and looked at the expression on his aunt's face.

"Auntie Zia are you okay? You don't look so good," he said, holding her hand. Zia looked down and worked a smile onto her face.

"I'm okay Tom, it's nothing," she said. His face pinched into a frown, but he didn't push it.

"Let's go home then auntie," he said, and they walked out of the schoolyard and to the bus.

That night, when Tom was asleep, Zia sat on the couch in their front room with Honovi the snake twined around her fingers.

_"Honovi, does Tom…does he wonder about his father?"_

_He does, but it's only natural for a child who doesn't know his to do so, isn't it? _

_"Today his teacher said something to me, about how he could use a good male role model…"_

_Well there's Papa Charlie, isn't there? He's like a grandfather to Tom. He's family, and a good man._

_"Yes, but a more immediate one. She asked me if I had…if I had someone special. Like a boyfriend, you know? Should I be doing that?"_

_This never bothered you before, and Tom has turned out better than most of those kids who have both of their birth parents raising them._

_"But if he wonders about his father..."_

_Zia. Tom is a good boy, and you are a good parent. What this woman said really hit something in you, and I think you need to look at yourself and figure out why. _

_"There is something else though, Honovi."_

_What?_

_"I know who his father is."_

_I thought you might, but I was never certain._

_"And I know where he lives."_

_You know where he-_

_"I have the next week off work, since Tom doesn't have school. Papa Charlie and Nana Mary said they'd like to have him stay with them overnight sometime, they miss him. I think that maybe…"_

_You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking, Zia._

_"I'm going to go meet Tom Riddle Senior." _Zia smiled grimly. _"If only just to show how inadequate the man would have been as a parent, I think I'd like to know. Even if it's just to see how glad I am my Tom never ended up being raised by his real father."_


	14. Little Hangleton

Author's note!

Thank you to everyone who has been reading the story, it's the best feeling to see so many people enjoying it! I just want you to know that I read all of your reviews, and I'm grateful to those of you who keep coming back for more and those of you who are new, I hope you all keep enjoying it!

-Pneuma

* * *

"We are so excited to have Tom stay with us for the next couple days, don't you worry about a thing!" Nana Mary told Zia, her wrinkled round face beaming happily. "It's been too long since we've gotten him all to ourselves, we've planned out a bunch of fun activities."

"Don't worry auntie, I'll be fine! Nana told me she's making my favorite's to eat, and Papa is going to teach me how to ride a horse," Tom said earnestly. Zia raised her eyebrows, and turned to look at Papa Charlie.

"Is that so?" she asked him, doing her best to look stern. Papa Charlie chuckled.

"He'll be fine, Zia! You have fun with your free time!" he told her. She smiled.

"I'll do my best, Papa Charlie. Thank you both," she said, hugging first Papa Charlie, then Nana Mary. "And you be on your best behavior!" she told Tom. He grinned.

"I always am Auntie!" he reached his short arms up for a hug, and she knelt and gave him a brief squeeze.

"I'll be here to get you in two days, okay? I'll call you in the evenings to say goodnight."

"Okay." He said.

_And I'll keep an eye on him too of course,_ Honovi hissed softly from the tank sitting on the table. Zia turned her head and nodded briefly, to show Honovi that she had heard and that she was grateful, then left.

She returned to the apartment, and dialed a number on the phone, while at the same time crossing off things on a checklist and going over the contents of her suitcase. Dresses…check. Hats…stockings…shoes…check, check, check.

"Hello, this is Arnold Halse barkeeper of The Hanged Man, how can I help you?"

"Hello sir, I was wondering if The Hanged Man also functions as an inn, or if there is somewhere else I could stay in Little Hangleton?" Zia asked the man over the phone, still looking over the suitcase.

"We've got rooms, when do you need one?"

"Are there any open for tonight and tomorrow night?" she asked.

"There are, would you be needing one?"

"I would indeed. Price?"

"9 shillings per night," the man said.

"Alright. Please have a room reserved for this night and the next under the name-" Zia paused, realizing that giving Gaunt as her last name would probably not be a very good idea in the town where the actual Gaunts came from.

"The name…?" the man asked impatiently.

"Dursley!" she blurted, then made a face to herself. Of all the names to pull from the top of her head, the worst muggle name out there had to be the first. "Zia Dursley," she said more calmly.

"Alright Mrs. Dursley, shall I expect you for this evening?"

"It's Miss, and yes you shall. Thank you very much sir," she said, finding it disconcerting and slightly revolting to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Dursley. Having it as a fake last name was bad enough, there was no way she was going to pretend that she was married to one.

"Not at all," Arnold Halse responded, and then hung up. Zia put the phone back onto the cradle, and went over the list one more time. Certain that she had everything, she closed up her suitcase, got her purse, and was almost out the door before she turned back and walked back to her room, slipping her wand into the purse as she came back out.

She had learned a lot of the spells in the beginning books she bought, assuming that since she was over seventeen the ministry of magic could find no reason to keep her from practicing just because she hadn't gone to Hogwarts. Every evening she would devote one or two hours to practicing magic with and without the Elder and Unicorn hair wand. She hoped she would not need magic on the trip, but with the potential proximity of hostile wizards to where she was going, Zia didn't feel comfortable leaving her wand behind.

She surveyed the apartment one more time, then picked up the suitcase, exited, locked the door, and waited for the bus, which she would ride to the train station, then take the train the rest of the way.

Hours later, Zia stepped off the train into the town of Little Hangleton. It was evening, and since it was still light out, Zia could see a group of teenagers kicking around a ball in a field nearby.

"Frank! Pass it here!" One of the boys yelled. Zia's head snapped over to watch the boys, her eyes focusing in on the one with the ball.

"Come on Bryce pass it!" another boy yelled. She watched as Frank Bryce kicked the ball to his friend, and pressed a hand over her mouth, feeling sick. She was seeing the youthful face of a man she only knew from the books as an elderly, war torn gardener who was killed by the child she was working so hard to protect and raise as her own. A girl laughed as the boy shot the ball towards the space between two large rocks and missed. "Aw shut up Dot!"

Zia turned her face away from the group, willing herself to keep it together. It does not have to end that way, she told herself. If I can raise him right, if I can do this, then it doesn't have to end with that boy being used to make a horcrux and fed to a giant snake. If I do this right, I can change that boy's future. She had known what kinds of things Tom had done as Voldemort, but for the first time she felt the reality of what he could become if she failed.

"I will not fail," she said out loud. "I will not." She lifted her head and straightened herself, and walked into town, her eyes finally finding The Hanged Man. She crossed the street, entered the pub, and walked to the counter. "Is Arnold Halse here?" A man wearing an apron and wiping out a beer mug with a cloth walked up to her.

"That's me, are you Miss Dursley?" he asked.

"Yes I am. I have a room reserved; we talked about this over the phone."

"We did, hold on." He walked to the register, and she paid for the two nights, and then he handed her a key, took her suitcase, and led her through a door and up a set of stairs. "That's the one, room 16," he said, setting her suitcase in front of the door.

"Thank you Mr. Halse," she said, and unlocked the door, then pulled the suitcase inside, and locked herself into the room. "I hope this isn't a mistake," she whispered.


	15. Senior

Author note! Sorry this one has been so slow again, been busy with family and summer work, I apologize. Anyways I'd like to thank everyone again for your support, I'm always amazed to see how many people have read the story, how many people follow it and favorite it, and I love reading the reviews! It makes me really happy to see so many people who like it and want to read more. Thank you all and enjoy the chapter!

-Pneuma

* * *

Zia woke up later than usual, blinking slowly to adjust her eyes to the too-bright light. Sleep had evaded her in the little inn the previous night as she stared at the ceiling and attempted to put together something to say to the man who had abandoned his wife and unborn son. It was even more difficult since she was raising the child he hadn't wanted. In the end she had dropped to sleep with no more ideas than she had started the night with, but in the daylight she felt like she didn't care how exactly it went with Tom Riddle Senior, good or bad. Either way, her little Tom was hers. She reached for her wand and ran her thumb along the handle slowly. If things went wrong, a simple memory charm would fix everything. Zia got ready quickly, and stopped for breakfast in the pub.

"Mr. Halse, could you give me directions to the Riddle house?" she asked the barman as he took her plate. Several heads turned towards her, most of them the faces of older people from the town, and she could tell from their expressions that the Riddles were not well liked, and that she was going to be discussed as soon as she left the room.

"It's the biggest in the town, you go straight down the main road, it will be on your left. You can't miss it." the barkeeper told her.

"Thank you very much," she said, paying for the meal. Arnold Halse said nothing, just took the money and smiled in an almost encouraging way, but not quite succeeding. Zia left and soon realized that she probably hadn't needed the directions after all. A little ways past the small clutter of buildings that marked the center of the town and the Riddle house became glaringly obvious against the green hillside.

Large, imposing, and scrupulously well kept, the house was nothing like the picture she had in her mind from the books. This must be what the house looked like in the state it was meant to have and she was, against her will, impressed. Even the grounds were immaculate. Zia dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from feeling anxious, and walked down the road until she reached the gate to the house. She took a deep breath, pushed it open, and marched to the door. Three sharp raps with the silver handled door knocker and a man appeared, opening it.

"We don't buy from peddlers," he said stiffly.

"Good thing I'm not selling anything then. May I speak to Tom Riddle?"

"Neither have the time to speak to strangers who wandered this way from the streets," the man appeared unruffled by her presence.

"Either he finds time, or I make it for him," Zia replied, smiling plastically at the man.

"I will call the police if you threaten anybody in this house," the doorman warned. Through the opening in the door, Zia watched as a young man walked into her line of sight.

"Alfred do you know where my good coat is?" the young man asked, apparently not noticing the open door.

"Sir, I believe it was hanging on the back of one of the dining room chairs," the doorman said, turning away from Zia. This action seemed to bring her into the young man's line of vision. She watched as his right eyebrow quirked up. She saw her Tom in his features, and knew instantly that this was Tom Riddle Senior.

"Excuse me Alfred, but would you mind fixing something for me to eat in the kitchen?" he said motioning for the butler or doorman or whatever position Alfred filled to move aside. "Hello, I'm Tom Riddle. May I ask why you are blocking the doorway to my house?" he murmured smoothly, extending his hand. Zia eyed it with a jolt of slight revulsion, but shook it all the same.

"Actually, I have something that I would like to discuss with you Mr. Riddle," she said.

"Oh? And why would you assume that I have time to see someone who randomly appeared on my doorstep, no matter how nice-looking they might be?"

"I don't assume that you have time, I know you will have time," Zia replied. The man was indeed handsome; probably the most attractive man she had ever met, but his snobbish attitude killed it completely. He smiled patronizingly at her.

"And how would you know that? Because what I know is that either you give me a very good reason to have time, or you will leave," he told her. Zia's eyes narrowed, and the next moment her wand was pointed towards Tom's forehead.

"Do you recognize what this is, or have you forgotten about what happened during your mysterious disappearance with the tramp's daughter?" she lowered the wand as she spoke until it pointed towards his chest, and noted with immense satisfaction that his eyes followed its progress warily.

"I'll call the police," he said firmly, but she could hear the tremor of fear in his voice.

"What makes you think you'd have time for that when you're using it to talk to me? If you know what this is, you should also know that calling the police would be pointless," she answered.

"Come in," Tom said grudgingly, opening the door wider so that she could walk through it and into the house.

"I'd prefer somewhere private," Zia told him.

"Of course, follow me," he walked through the house and into what looked like a small library. Sitting in one large chair, he motioned for her to sit in the other. "Why are you here?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something that happened during that absence." Tom looked like he was about to be sick, and she noticed that his eyes were on her purse, where he knew her wand was stored. "You know if you'd just been polite I wouldn't have pulled out my wand, but I came for a purpose and I intend to follow through."

"You're just like her, getting what you want with _magic_," he spat the last word, "rather than through any real merit."

"You wouldn't have let me in if I hadn't, and I promise you that if you'd like I can make you forget this conversation once we are done with it. Anyways, were you made aware that she was pregnant?"

"Yes, but everything that woman did was full of lies and deceit. Why would that be any different than anything else she ever did to get me? I know about the love potion, I'm not a complete idiot, I know my own feelings. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm currently raising your son, so I just wanted to know if you were aware of the possibility of his existence," Zia said nonchalantly.


	16. Like Father

To be quite honest, I'm pretty nervous about putting up this chapter. It did not go the way I originally thought it would, but sometimes it feels like things go the way the characters would have it go if they were real, and the writer just observes and documents. Anyways, I really appreciate everyone who follows and likes the story, it makes me really happy! I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

-Pneuma

* * *

Tom Riddle's mouth opened a fraction, his eyes widened, and his mouth worked soundlessly until he found his voice. "My—my son? I have a son?"

"Yes, he's actually named after you. Tom."

"Named after me," Tom Riddle Senior murmured to himself, covering his face with his hands. Zia sat across from him quietly, understanding that he needed time to process this information. After what seemed like much too long, he looked back up, raking his fingers through his hair. "Does he know about me?"

"He's aware that he has a father, obviously. He knows very little about his mother other than that she died giving birth to him, and that she had magic." At the last few words Tom's mouth tightened.

"Does my son have magic?" Zia's own mouth pulled down into a frown. She didn't like the way the man talked about her Tom.

"He does. He is extremely gifted." Tom Riddle's face contorted.

"_Gifted?_ I call that cursed."

"It's clear that he doesn't get his intelligence or his skills from you," Zia retorted angrily. "Just his looks, which don't last forever anyways."

"Well how would _you_ feel about magic if you'd been forced into being part of the creation of a child by someone you didn't like, didn't love, and who ruined your life?" He stood now, his anger rising. "Do you know the disgrace of it? Do you know what it is like to feel dirtied like that? My reputation, my former fiancée, the approval of my parents, gone. Wrecked. Everything was destroyed by that woman's selfish use of her magic. You can't expect me to feel any joy over this."

"I didn't expect you to. I just wanted to know what you were like. I wanted to meet the man that my child thinks about, wonders about, and wishes he knew." Zia said quietly. "I've heard enough. I feel no guilt raising Tom without knowing his father." She pulled out her wand and pointed it at his forehead. "You won't remember this. Any of it." He looked at her, and she was surprised at the anguished expression on his face.

"Don't." he said simply. She lowered her wand.

"Why not?"

"How do you know about all of this? What part do you play?" Tom asked.

"I am your son's aunt," Zia said. Tom raised one eyebrow.

"Impossible. That family only had one son and one daughter neither quite right in the head, and the father wasn't right in the head either. And they were all—how do I put this—_hideous_. You bear no resemblance to any of them. I repeat my question: how do you know about this?" Zia was silent, trying to think of an answer when she had none. Tom was more intelligent than she gave him credit for, and she realized that she would need to be very careful with what she said.

"I was illegitimate, and then did not display any sort of magic when I was young. Did you ever wonder where the mother was?" Tom scrutinized her face.

"I don't think that's true, but if that is the answer you wish to use, I will agree to play along," he said slowly.

"Agree to play along? When I wipe your memory, you won't have any recollection of me at all."

"Mmhmm. And what if your 'nephew' decides to find his father and finds out that his 'aunt' is a fake? How do you think that would work out?" Tom Riddle Senior's mouth was twisted into a semi-triumphant smile. Zia's eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and she realized grudgingly that he had a valid point.

"What do you want? You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't want something." Tom's face broke into a completely triumphant smile now.

"Retribution."

"What do you mean?"

"What is your name?" he asked her. Zia didn't understand his request, but she did understand that if she didn't answer, there could be consequences.

"Zia Gaunt."

"Age?"

"24." He raised both eyebrows.

"You are 24? You don't look very old at all," he said examining her. Zia knew this already; she hadn't aged very much physically for the four years since she had become Tom's aunt, and even before then she had always looked young for her age.

"I am 24. You can choose to believe that or not, but there it is." He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Not a bad age."

"What does age have to do with anything?" Zia was beginning to feel extremely uneasy at the direction the conversation was going.

"I don't want it to look like I'm pursuing someone much younger than I am," he said calmly, folding his fingers together in a slightly business like gesture.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm 26, you know. Only two years older than you. Very much acceptable, you see."

"I don't see."

"You're not bad to look at either. Unlike my captor," he continued.

"What is this? Why are you analyzing me like this?"

"Retribution. An eye for an eye. Although I think you have it better than I did, I'm not bad to look at," Tom Riddle Senior was smiling, but there was no hint of joy there. Only four years of built up anger. Zia stood up.

"You're a horrible person, and there is no way that I will stay here and listen to this. I'll modify everything. You won't remember me, you won't remember Merope, you won't remember magic." She reached to pull out her wand, and realized that it was not there. Looking up she saw Tom twirling it in his fingers, looking interestedly at it.

"What would happen if I break this?" Zia froze, and her body went numb with cold horror. She could not speak. "Ahhh I thought so. That would be a problem wouldn't it?"

"I could get a new one."

"But there wouldn't be a way of erasing my memory would there? I could simply find my son and tell him the truth before you get the chance…how do you think he would take it?"

"I should have wiped your memory when I had the chance, but I took pity on you."

"Will you hear out my proposition? Depending on how you answer, you could get your wand back."

"Fine," Zia said grudgingly.

"Sit down," the man said, pointing back to the chair. Zia sat, crossing her arms, angry. "You are raising my son. I am his father. You said he wants to know his father."

"I don't think he would want to know you."

"No interruptions. Anyway, I see one very good solution to this whole issue, and it would even include retribution for me," he continued, pausing and looking at her giving silent permission for her to speak. Zia saw in the man what she was trying desperately to prevent her Tom from becoming, and felt sick.

"What solution is that?"

"Marry me."


	17. History

_Another note! Hello everyone, I know the last chapter was...a bit of a shock, trust me it was for me too! Thank you to everyone who reads my story, I'm glad you all are so supportive and into it! Okay everyone, gear up for a chapter with perspective shifts, I hope you like it!_

_-Pneuma_

* * *

Tom Riddle Senior watched the strange girl shift uncomfortably, studying her amusedly as her face pulled into an expression of mingled horror and shock. The girl who claimed she was raising the son he had never wanted, at least never wanted with the person that had brought the boy into the world. It still turned his stomach when he thought about how Merope had forced his emotions to twist into the strange kind of infatuation he never wanted to experience again. He rubbed the handle of the girl's wand slowly with his thumb. He had never wanted to see one of those again. Retribution. He would force the girl to marry him just as he had been forced into marriage. Let his son's surrogate mother experience what the child's biological mother had forced him into.

"You think this is retribution. But you are worse than her. Worse than Merope," the girl—Zia—said quietly. Tom's hand clenched the wand tighter at the mention of the woman's name out loud.

"How so?" he asked, holding back his anger under a façade of calm.

"She did it because she loved you. All she wanted was love. You saw her family, you made that clear when you exposed my lie. Did you watch the way they treated her? All she wanted was to be free and to be loved by somebody that she really cared for. But you, you have no reason for this other than to hurt someone else. You don't even know what happened to your wife, you never bothered to see if she was lying or not about your son." Tom frowned. The way this girl spoke to him, it was like a parent reprimanding a misbehaving child. He didn't like that what she was saying made sense.

"Well then, enlighten me. What happened to that woman?"

"After you left, she gave up magic. I don't think she wanted to be reminded of one more thing that you despised in her. She gave up her will to live, sold all her possessions that may have had even a slight value, and barely kept herself alive long enough to have your son. Her dying words, I know them because of what the head of the orphanage he was in told me, were that she hoped he looked like you," Zia looked directly into his eyes, and Tom felt uncomfortable under the penetrating gaze she was turning onto him. It felt like the girl was seeing through him into his soul, and the slight turn down at the corners of her mouth were showing him that she didn't like what she saw there. "She got her dying wish. He does look like you."

"How do I know you aren't lying to me?" he asked her, grasping for something that would ease the uneasy guilt he felt. He knew though, that the girl wasn't lying. Her eyes reflected nothing but truth as she gazed into his. "You've lied about your relation to my son."

"I did lie about that. The orphanage wouldn't let me have him unless I was family because I'm not married. They didn't know his mother, they didn't know where she came from, but he had your name. I told them I was her sister. She was more untraceable." The explanation the girl gave did nothing to ease his guilt, simply increased it. Her dishonesty was more valid than he had wanted it to be. He had wanted her response to make him hate her. To make it easy for him to hurt her.

"Why? Why do all this for a child you weren't related to?" This question made the girl look down at the ground, and her reply came slowly and so quietly he had to lean forward to hear it.

"I don't want him to have the future he would have had if he did not have someone to love him. I don't want him to become a monster. I love him as if he was my own son, and I will do anything to protect him from that fate." The answer fascinated Tom.

"What do you mean by monster? And how did you know?"

"You don't need to know the answers to either question," the girl said, face still turned to her feet. Tom turned this over in his head, turned the conversation over in his head, trying to find something in it that he could hate her for, something to fuel his anger, something to justify his actions. He was unable to find anything but guilt and disgust with himself. The girl was simply a good person. He realized that even her magic wasn't reason enough to force her to suffer.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her, now curious as to why she would bother to find him if she knew his past and the story behind his son and dissatisfied with her previous answer.

"I told you. Tom thinks about his father. He sees the other children who have their fathers and he wonders about his own, and why he doesn't have one with him. It hurts me to watch him wonder like that, so I wanted to meet you to see what you were like." Tom understood, but sensed that there had been another reason.

"What other reasons did you have?" She looked up at him, and he saw that her mouth was set determinedly.

"I wanted to know if he was missing something by not knowing you. If I was making a mistake."

"What did you decide?" He wondered if he wanted to hear what she said next.

"It's better for him not to. Your attitude, the way you treat other people, no child should be raised looking up to someone like you. The people in the town, none of them like you or your family. Proud, selfish, condescending, all of you. You are not the kind of man my child deserves in a father," she said steadily, even though he saw her eyes dart to her wand. She was brave enough to tell him the truth, but he knew that she was also worried that his reaction would harm her. Or more likely, he thought to himself, his son.

"You hate me, don't you, Zia Gaunt." He spoke the words slowly, making the sentence a statement instead of a question. She was silent for an almost unbearably long time before she spoke.

"I could hate you, it would be very easy. But mostly I feel disappointment and a little relief."

"Relief?"

"I know I am doing a better job than you would have." He did it before he could think.

* * *

Zia watched as in one move Tom Riddle Senior stood, turned her wand, and held it out to her, waiting patiently for her to take it. She stared at him hesitantly, wondering if this was some kind of trap, but his eyes were fixed on the ground so she couldn't read him. She reached out tentatively, then when she saw that he wouldn't pull away snatched it out of his hand.

"Do what you want." He told her.

"What?" she said, confused.

"Wipe my memories, or leave me the way I am, do whatever you want. Whatever you think is right." Zia stood there staring at him. He looked up into her eyes. "I won't harm you, or my son. You have that promise." Her mouth fell open slightly, and his lips turned up at the corners, showing slight amusement at the expression he saw on her face. It wasn't the same cruel kind of smile as before, and she wondered who exactly Merope had fallen in love with. "If you leave me the way I am, though, I have one request."

"What request is that?" Zia was apprehensive, wondering what it could be this time.

"Come visit me again. Check my progress. I _will_ be a better man. But like I said, do what you think is right." She hesitated, and looked him in the eye. Honesty and sincerity. She turned around and walked to the door of the little room, opened it, and walked down the hallway to the front door. He followed her, pulling the door open before she could.

"I'll be around," she said easily, and left the Riddle House.


End file.
